Once again,
Thor has heaved his hammer,
To split us apart.
You were propelled forward,
Into the sun,
While I took a trip down memory lane,
In corporeal form.
I’ve been here,
More or less.
More more than less.
I used to live in this squalor.
“You still do”
These dimmed alleyways used to be my roads.
“They are again”
I sometimes think that perhaps I’m not supposed to be happy.
Maybe I’ve created a destiny for myself,
Blindly, of course,
That leads me into these tenements,
To find truth most unsatisfiable,
By means of a journey most treacherous.
Perhaps that’s a romantic way of phrasing it,
But you get the point.
Just maybe I’m supposed to roam these empty, crowded streets at night,
Alone,
So that I can absorb the world’s pain.
Absorb it and transform it.
Pain begets art.
Art begets thought.
Thought begets truth.
Truth begets fear.
Fear begets violence.
Violence begets pain.
I am doing my part in the greater cycle,
But we are unsatisfied.
My Prince and Liege and Love, that great grandmaster Art,
Will not allow some petty knave such as Violence to usurp him once again.
So, perhaps,
It is better that I go this alone,
Into this battle of souls and minds,
So that only mine life can be risked.
Maybe.
Thor has heaved his hammer,
To split us apart.
You were propelled forward,
Into the sun,
While I took a trip down memory lane,
In corporeal form.
I’ve been here,
More or less.
More more than less.
I used to live in this squalor.
“You still do”
These dimmed alleyways used to be my roads.
“They are again”
I sometimes think that perhaps I’m not supposed to be happy.
Maybe I’ve created a destiny for myself,
Blindly, of course,
That leads me into these tenements,
To find truth most unsatisfiable,
By means of a journey most treacherous.
Perhaps that’s a romantic way of phrasing it,
But you get the point.
Just maybe I’m supposed to roam these empty, crowded streets at night,
Alone,
So that I can absorb the world’s pain.
Absorb it and transform it.
Pain begets art.
Art begets thought.
Thought begets truth.
Truth begets fear.
Fear begets violence.
Violence begets pain.
I am doing my part in the greater cycle,
But we are unsatisfied.
My Prince and Liege and Love, that great grandmaster Art,
Will not allow some petty knave such as Violence to usurp him once again.
So, perhaps,
It is better that I go this alone,
Into this battle of souls and minds,
So that only mine life can be risked.
Maybe.
Post-Neology 